


Like Father, Like Son

by DraconianPrince



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Abusive Lucius Malfoy, Assault, Bondage, Bottom Draco Malfoy, But this is my world and I do what I want, Crying, Degradation, Draco wants his father to love him, Everybody is OOC but it's fine, Feel-good, Fluff and Angst, Fluff and Smut, Grooming, I'll take my punishment like a man, I'm Going to Hell, I'm fully aware that mediwitches don't use muggle medicine, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Incest, Just very very creepy, Light Bondage, Lucius Malfoy Being an Asshole, Lucius Malfoy loves his son very much, Lucius Malfoy's A+ Parenting, Lucius Malfoy's Pimp Cane, Lucius is nice sometimes, M/M, Malfoy Family, Malfoy Family-centric (Harry Potter), Malfoycest, Malfoycest (Harry Potter), Maybe a little too much, Parent/Child Incest, Past Child Abuse, Praise Kink, Punishment, Random & Short, Sexual Assault, Short One Shot, Smut, Top Lucius Malfoy, Vomiting, Young Draco Malfoy, corporeal punishment, it's fine though
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-03
Updated: 2020-07-02
Packaged: 2021-03-04 04:48:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 5
Words: 5,892
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24527902
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DraconianPrince/pseuds/DraconianPrince
Summary: There is not nearly enough Lucius and Draco Malfoycest out there, so I've come to join the ranks and try to repair that. I don't condone pedophilia/abuse/child abuse/rape/non-con/etc but I've reached the chapter in my life where I can't stop writing Lucius and Draco in morally compromising scenarios.None of these connect to each other. In a sense, they're sort of like one-shots. I'll try to put warnings in the A/N if anything mature happens, but most of them will likely be Lucius just admiring his son and telling him he's pretty. I apologize for my sins.
Relationships: Draco Malfoy/Lucius Malfoy
Comments: 13
Kudos: 118





	1. Fever

**Author's Note:**

> Please do not read if you're not okay with topics addressed in this fic. If you have any suggestions/ideas, please comment them below. Thank you!

He was burning up. Every inch of his skin flushed with a blotchy redness that could only be attributed to a high fever. Draco didn’t remember going to bed with it, but he’d woken up somewhere around midnight, head pounding and stirring restlessly in a pool of his own sweat. It was enough to make the child weep in agony, throwing his sheets off and continuing to toss and turn. Draco ended up on his stomach before he sat up, pushing his hair back with one small hand and crying out for his father. Lucius appeared in his doorway in moments, tugging the last few buttons on a silken nightshirt closed before he began over to his son’s bed. 

Draco whimpered loudly and reached out to him, sweat pooling into his shirt and causing it to stick to his body. The sensation made him feel disgusting, eliciting another pitiful whimper from his lips as Lucius hooked his son under the arms and lifted him into an embrace. As Draco pressed his face into his father’s neck, stifling cries against the softened skin, Lucius became aware of the radiating warmth and permeating aroma of sickness. 

“Now, now, Draco…” his voice was soft, vacant of its characteristic admonishment as he cradled the boy in his arms. Reaching to the waist of his pyjama pants, he pulled out a wand. With a flicker of his wrist, the sheets became clean and folded, allowing Lucius to stroll out of the bedroom and back to his own sleeping chambers. Narcissa was absent on business affairs, and so Lucius decided with a short nod that she wouldn’t be bothered if Draco stayed in his bed for the night. Fever dreams were known to be frightful, and in some cases almost traumatic, and Draco clung to him desperately enough that Lucius believed You-Know-Who could arrive in splendor and Draco would have held steadfast. 

“There, there, my beautiful boy…” His voice was lurid, though he held all the softened, muttered tones that had always comforted Draco and told him he was safe, even if he wasn’t. Lucius Malfoy settled the boy onto the edge of the tub and drew a bath, stirring his wand above the surface of the water until the scent of warm sugar and spices filled the room. Draco sniffed, gathering his father’s sleeve to wipe the tears from his cheeks, and reached down to touch the water. Immediately, the hand was pulled back and Draco shook his head, “Too hot, father.” A tiny palm pressed itself against Lucius’ cheek and the man nodded, turning his head to deposit a kiss against each fingertip before whispering another muttered spell. The water began to cool and Draco checked again, nodding his satisfaction. Lucius set his wand aside onto the floor and slipped his fingers beneath the boy’s sleep shirt, savoring the feeling of powder-soft skin under his touch. 

He wouldn’t do anything tonight; no, Draco was unwell and needed his father. Needed him to be kind and soothing and gentle. Even if he was insufferable for a child, he deserved the occasional, genial comfort. 

Obediently, Draco lifted his arms for his father and Lucius was able to remove the piece of clothing, abandoning the fever-stained fabric into a hamper. He couldn’t refrain from littering the lithe figure before him in gentle little affections, lips hazing over perfectly untarnished skin and breathing in a scent that was very distinct to his own bloodline. Pure, untouched, unbroken beauty. A hand tangled into his hair and Draco drowsily began to pet the platinum blonde strands framing his father’s face, touches ginger and enthralled in his action. Lucius audibly purred, sinking his forehead against the child’s collarbone and lowering his shoulders. As his son giggled, Lucius smiled as well, lifting one hand to rock Draco’s cheek in his palm and contemplating the fever in his cheeks. Even in the miserable pout on Draco’s face, he still managed to seem extraordinarily content, long lashes catching the sparkle of bathroom candlelight as he fixated onto his father’s hair. 

He was like him, almost, though smaller and less developed. His features were soft, lacking the hardened edges of treachery and debauchery, and his eyes fluttered with a youthful idealism that the world could never hurt him. The world never would hurt him. Lucius would stand between him and the harsh realism that seemed to press in upon the family. Lucius would spoil him. He would dress him in the finest silks and let him stare awestruck through a rose tinted lens. He would let him breathe in the air of a perfect world, and Lucius himself would hand craft it. 

“My perfect boy,” he cooed, cradling Draco in his arms as he lowered him into the tub, “My perfect boy… my little dragon.” Draco reached once more for his hair and Lucius shook his head, whispering a word into the air and brandishing a silken black ribbon. A brief moment saw it cradled against Draco’s wrist -- pale, thin, fragile, and unmarked -- before Lucius lifted it to tie his hair back. Draco smiled at him and mused about a ‘pretty bow’, and Lucius nodded to please him. “Pretty bow,” Lucius repeated, lips pressing softly against Draco’s forehead before inevitably feathering a chaste kiss against the younger’s lips, “Pretty boy.” He leaned back against his heels to pull at the buttons confining his sleeves at his wrists, rolling the material up to free his arms for their job. Draco seemed far more interested in the Dark Mark printed into his skin as if by a brand, however, running fingers over every serpentine curve before a thumb went up to his mouth, “Snake.” Lucius nodded, turning his attention to the mark and flexing his arm in some calculated measure. 

After a stagnant pause, he settled on resolutely echoing back Draco’s observation, lips pulling into a smile as he cupped the bath water into his hands and let it cascade over the boy’s head. Draco blew up his cheeks and wrenched his eyes shut, shaking his head and drawing his knees up to his chest in protest against the soap being lathered into his hair. Lucius was careful, drifting into a lullaby as the side of his hand diverted rivulets of soapy water from his son’s eyes. 

It would be a pity if he were to be put in any sort of pain in his state — as if a weak and festering animal were to be beaten and then dragged to slaughter. 

“Tilt your head back,” Lucius instructed, lifting his own chin so that Draco would mirror him. Draco followed his lead, though kept his eyes pressed firmly shut and whined when another handful of water poured over his head. The soap washed itself away, signaling that it was safe to let his eyelids edge apart. Draco looked to his father, who gave him a reassuring smile and resumed a faint echo of a lullaby. Lucius had never learned the words, but pieced together from memory what he could of Narcissa’s days in the nursery. Dulcet tones that could have stopped a raging storm and words that faded in and out of one’s subconscious like a distant recollection. The disjointed lyrics seemed to soothe Draco anyway, allowing Lucius to lather soap into a cloth and clean the boy thoroughly. The water was drained soon after, Lucius leaving the bathroom to find a pair of the child’s underwear and one of his own shirts, instructing Draco out of the tub. A warm towel found itself around Draco’s shoulders, drying him off with some loving carefulness that accompanied itself with the occasional soft affection against his chest from Lucius. The man buttoned each fasten with a low click of his tongue before Draco found himself back in his father’s arms, nestled securely against his chest and already dozing off into a drowsy sleep. Lucius leaned to grab his wand from the floor and used the tip to open a medicine cabinet, finding a bottle and strolling into the master bedroom. Settling Draco down on the edge of the bed, Lucius knelt before him and instructed Draco to open his mouth, placed one pill onto the boy’s tongue, and then murmured for him to swallow. Draco followed his father’s words dutifully before throwing his arms back around Lucius’s neck, finding himself asleep by the time the older male had crawled beneath the sheets and settled down. “Oh, my beautiful boy… how I love you… how I’ll always love you…”


	2. Mirage From God

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "When Mother’s out of town, everything you and your father do is kept secret, yes?” Draco nodded again, and Lucius continued, “And secrets are fun... because people who love each other keep secrets all the time.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please do not read if you're not okay with topics addressed in this fic. If you have any suggestions/ideas, please comment them below. Thank you!

“Draco,” Lucius called, voice holding a drifting sort of nuance as he sat upon the four-poster bed he and Narcissa were accustomed to sleeping on. The manor remained deathly silent, and Lucius’s brows furrowed impatiently. 

He was never fond of repeating himself, and tonight was no exception. “Draco!” He snapped, voice resonating against the walls of the room. Barely a moment passed before the flickering light in the hallway cast a shadow and a boy no older than eight stood in the doorway, a weary stare shifting from various objects in the room and landing resolutely on his father. A hand extended to him and Draco swallowed, arms firmly gripped around a stuffed bear, before stepping over to the bed. The light in the corridor illuminated him from behind, casting a golden halo into his hair and outlining porcelain skin as if he were, in Lucius Malfoy’s opinion, a mirage from God. The man shifted to the edge and rested a hand against the child’s platinum-blonde head, carding his fingers through his hair and craning Draco’s neck forward. A languid kiss found itself atop the boy’s head, and within moments he’d been lifted to nestle away among the silk sheets. Draco found himself wreathed in a distinct scent of cologne, choking and burning his eyes until he almost thought that he might begin to cough. 

“Mother’s still at Aunt Bella’s, yes?” Draco nodded, eyes casting up and leaving him feeling if not mildly safer in light of the smile resting on Lucius’ face, “And when Mother’s out of town, everything you and your father do is kept secret, yes?” Draco nodded again, and Lucius continued, “And secrets are fun... because people who love each other keep secrets all the time.” 

Draco blinked as calloused fingers traced across his temple and to his lips, a thumb trailing against his Cupid’s bow and slipping to settle between his teeth as Lucius offered a low sort of ‘hush’. 

“Good boy... be a good boy for your father, and we’ll partake in a plethora of fun things later.” Once Draco nodded, his father reclined back against the headboard and patted his stomach, prompting the boy to move and nestle himself against the cradle of the older man’s hips. Tsking his teeth, Lucius seized the bear with a superficial sense of caution, managing to pull it from Draco’s hands and discard it haphazardly onto the floor. It disappeared into the shadows and Lucius swept his gaze back over, chin lowering in a convincingly apologetic simper. “You’re a big boy now, Draco. You have a name to bear, and there’s no place for nonsensical make-believe.” 

Draco stared silently after his toy, feeling tears well in his eyes as he reached out for it. He wanted to crawl out of the bed and fetch the bear. He wanted to lay amongst the sheets and present it to his father as he usually did when Narcissa bought him something new. He wanted his father to hold it up and whistle a tune and tell him that he agreed with the bear in thinking he was very pretty. 

He wanted Lucius to smile again, instead of the glare that was etching its way onto the man’s features. 

Suddenly, a hand seized his jaw and Lucius’ voice became nauseatingly smooth, steel-grey eyes holding a stern contempt, “What did Daddy say? You’re a big boy, in a big boy world.” As if through instruction, Draco blinked away his tears and nodded, shifting his head so that he could properly part his lips again. “Good...” Lucius purred, breaths low and heavy and sultry, and tucked two fingers into the child’s mouth, pressing down his tongue and snaking to the back of his throat. Draco could feel his father’s fingerprints almost well enough to draw them, and spit ran down his chin to stain his shirt as Lucius tilted his head this way and that, taking him in like a groomed animal at a show. He tried time and time again to understand why Lucius did this, working his jaw further apart and telling him to swallow, but he could never bring himself to ask his father why. 

He knew better. Draco coughed and fought back a gag, watching as Lucius carefully inspected him. “Magnificent,” his father’s voice was husky as he pulled his hand away to slip the now-damp fingertips under Draco’s nightshirt, feeling over his skin and pressing into his ribs with tentative, varying levels of pressure. 

At this, Draco offered an outright cry and his lip trembled, hands raising to press his palms into his eyes in order to dry his newly forming tears. “You’re a Malfoy, Draco. Bruises and cuts are nothing to a Malfoy. Broken bones are to be worn like badges of honor. Do not cry, it shows you’re weak.” 

He prodded at the child’s ribs — bruised and scraped and bearing the unmistakable imprint of fingers — once more before shifting his touches further up to run over the child’s collarbone, “A pureblood never cries.” Lucius smiled once more, reaching for Draco’s wrists to pull them — a bit sharply — away from his face, “Do you understand me?” 

When he received a nod, Lucius feathered his eyelashes and tangled a hand into his son’s hair, pushing his head forward to allow another dusting of kisses over Draco’s cheeks and temple. 

Draco breathed out slowly, soothed by the now-familiar affections that he’d longed for. The affections that assured him that Lucius would be gentle in whatever he did and unless he struggled back, assured him that Lucius would stay with him after. The boy melted away against him, using Lucius’ silken pajamas to dry his face as hands slipped down over the curve of his back and to his waist. 

Lucius took in the full expanse of his son’s body, lip pulling between his teeth and letting his eyes drift into a half-lidded position. Draco’s heart raced, whimpering gently when hands pressed into his thighs and pushed his bottom down. Obediently, he pressed back up against them and wiggled his hips, which seemed to please his father immensely. “You love me, don’t you, my little dragon? You love me so, so very much?” Draco nodded and Lucius purred, tongue darting out against the child’s ear to caress it in some hungry warmth, “So you’ll be good for me, yes?” Another nod shifted against his shoulder and the bed creaked under Lucius as the man lifted his hips to push silken bottoms aside. 

Those same hands pulled Draco’s nightshirt up to his shoulders, skimming down against the curve of his spine before pressing against the cleft his cheeks. Draco shuddered, lip tucking out in a reluctant pout as Lucius drew in another breath, “And you trust me, yes?” Without a moment’s hesitation, Draco gathered up a fistful of his father’s shirt and locked it firmly between his teeth, casting a thoroughly loyal stare up at him and whispering, “Yes, father.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please do not read if you're not okay with topics addressed in this fic. If you have any suggestions/ideas, please comment them below. Thank you!


	3. Neglect

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lucius is far less touchy, and far more detached

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please do not read if you're not okay with topics addressed in this fic. If you have any suggestions/ideas, please comment them below. Thank you!

Lucius shifted over to the end of his bed, and fastening a silken sleeve around his wrist, summoned a cigarette to his fingertips and used the tip of his wand to utter a soft lighting spell. The child behind him began to sit up as well, and with aching difficulty, reached out for Lucius’ sleeve. Lucius turned his head and surveyed the boy, taking in the full spectrum of glossy-eyed, disheveled youth before him. Draco kept his grasp firm, those tears swimming in his eyes and threatening to run down his cheeks at the effort. 

He wanted to be held for at least a moment; at least until his head stopped pounding and his hands stopped shaking. Even though it put him on edge every time, he wanted an arm around him and lips against his temple, against his ear, leaving unbeknownst empty affections as Lucius cooed in his rarely-gentle, sultry sort of tones, “You’re absolutely breathtaking, my little dragon... beautiful.” He wanted to be gathered up into his father’s arms and rocked soothingly, settled into a warm bath, and cleaned with a practiced hand that always seemed to know exactly what it was doing. 

Instead, Lucius pulled his arm away and pointed to the bed, “No, Draco. I’m a busy man. Play with your bear, or- whatnot whatever it was, and leave your father to work.” 

‘Of course, how stupid could I be?’ Draco scolded himself at forgetting his father’s responsibilities. He was always working, and Draco knew that, so he felt it selfish that he should think the world stopped because he wanted attention. 

As Lucius buttoned his trousers with some indifferent tug, he turned his gaze away from the child and seized his walking stick, turning it over in neatly manicured hands and setting the serpent-like cane head against Draco’s cheek with a low admonishment, “Behave, now.” 

When he left, the room felt quieter and colder than it had before, absent of a larger-than-life eccentricity and wealth-softened hands carding admiringly through his hair. Draco knew better than to argue, though, and settled for gathering the sheets around himself in an effort to soak up their remaining warmth before they cooled. He found it a mistake to do anything but lay there, sharp pains mingling with a hollow feeling in the bottom of his stomach that he couldn’t organize into either nausea or sadness. Milky white, near-pallid skin glittered with bruises in the rising morning light, aggressive markings trailing over his throat and ribs, nestling against his hip and fading into the formations of handprints near his thighs. 

Lucius was never careful. ‘The world isn’t careful,’ Lucius would tell him, rolling forward in movements that never failed to flush Draco with deep, burning agony, ‘The world isn’t careful... you’ll grow stronger, Draco. You will grow used to it, and then I will be proud.’ So Draco bit the inside of his cheek as Lucius bore down, practiced fingers grabbing at any free inch of wasted porcelain flesh while Malfoy-acclaimed pure-blood inched down his legs as he tore, speckled the sheets, and brought Lucius to a languid, relishing halt. 

Draco was sure to stifle down his cries by the time Lucius leaned back to admire his work, eyes perusing the used object below him and delivering one hard smack against his hip. “Now, now… Draco…” he cooed gently, daring Draco to cry out past the gathered bundle of sheets between the boy’s teeth. Daring Draco to flinch away from nails dragging deep lacerations into his ribs. If so much as one hitched breath left him before Lucius was ready, then far worse things set into play and Draco would be deprived of the gentle comedown. Instead, he would become subject to enduring his father’s wrath in stark contrast to low praise against his lips. This wrath, Draco cringed at the thought, usually contained beatings; harsh assaults that left Draco shivering in the ice-cold seclusion in his room, weeping into a skinned knee and begging for his mother to help him. She never did, for he never told her. He’d gather himself up and bandage gauze around abrased skin, taping it down and pulling a shirt over with all with fumbling fingers. This way, he seemed normal. He seemed regal. He seemed virginal. 

Lucius remained, so long as he kept quiet, rather tolerable through the rest of the day, offhanded criticisms held at bay and eyes focusing themselves on Draco between sentences, willing him to breathe a word to his mother. ‘People who love each other keep secrets.’ He could hear it clearly in his mind, and despite the sickeningly heavy feeling in his limbs and the startled awakenings of terrors in the late hours of the night, he did love his father and was determined to make him proud.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please do not read if you're not okay with topics addressed in this fic. If you have any suggestions/ideas, please comment them below. Thank you!


	4. Narcotics

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I know, I know. Wizards wouldn't use muggle medicine like Vicodin, but for the purpose of the... whatever this thing could be called, Lucius is using a muggle narcotic. I've already mentioned it in the tags, so it should be expected. Thank you everybody for reading, and please leave a comment or a kudos if you enjoy this collection of one-shots(?)!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please do not read if you're not okay with topics addressed in this fic. If you have any suggestions/ideas, please comment them below. Thank you!

“Come here.” Lucius turned a cigarette idly between his fingers, studying each curl of satiny-white smoke unfurling towards the ceiling before setting it between his lips and carefully folding up the parchment on his desk. When Draco didn’t move from his chair, eyes fixated shamefully on his father and lip tucked out in a vague, fearful pout, the older male whistled loudly and reclined back into his office chair, “Draco. I said come here.” Only then did the twelve-year-old stand, staggering with the leftover stiffness of a quidditch incident.

Draco had hit the ground far too hard, tumbled once or twice, and then landed firmly in the dirt. He had to be carted off by both Madame Pomfrey and Madame Hooch, each woman with a shoulder under his arm and taken to the hospital wing, where he’d moaned and complained in agony for the rest of the match. If Lucius had stuck around to witness it, he would have surely been on his feet in seconds to halt the entire game. 

Draco liked to think so, at least.

When he reached the desk, Lucius cast his eyes over to him and offered a thin-lipped smile, “Oh, Draco... are you still hurting?” The boy shook his head, determined not to be ridiculed for being weak. “You’re lying, Draco,” Lucius extended his hand to fit against the child’s hip, grazing neatly manicured nails over his side and slipping beneath his shirt to feel over his ribs. At the slight give, Lucius’ lips pressed into a thin frown, which Draco watched wearily in the expectation that the frown was directed towards himself. The touches remained gentle, though, and eventually, his father’s expression softened.

“That Potter boy will meet a terrible, terrible fate, I’ll be sure...” Draco sniffed and leaned into the more gentle touches, relaxing completely when another arm wrapped around his neck and cradled Draco close to his father’s chest. The smell of rich, Italian cologne filled his head, sweeping a curtain of tranquility over the boy. “Come here, my sweet dragon. Lay down with me.” Draco was lifted into Lucius’s arms, legs wrapped around his father’s waist and one of the older’s hands resting against his thigh to keep him supported. As Lucius exited the office, he leaned gentle little kisses and nips against the child’s cheek and shoulder, moving his free hand to accio a small bottle into his palm from the bathroom. Several small objects rattled about inside, and though Draco craned his neck in an effort to see what Lucius was about to give him, the man kept it securely hidden away in his palm. 

Sitting on the bed, Lucius gathered a handful of silken sheets and pulled them away from the headboard. Carefully, he sat down among the pillows, settling Draco in his lap and nestling the child’s face against his shoulder. Draco whimpered with the movements, ribs protesting in jolts of tear-budding pain, but Lucius shushed him softly and unscrewed the bottle in his hand, “Here, my sweet. Take these. You’ll feel much better… Your father promises.” Tossing the cap onto the bed, Lucius rummaged about in the bottle and brandished a small handful of the pills, reaching to unfurl the boy’s fingers, “Here. Take these. They always make your mother feel better, mm?” Nodding, Draco took the pills from his palm and tipped his head back to swallow them, managing to force the medicine down dry in accompaniment to Lucius’s soft little praises. Lucius smiled gently, lifting a hand to run his index and middle finger against either side of the child’s throat, skimming over his collarbone and outlining every fading contusion left by previous affairs.

Before long at all, the lights in the room became fuzzy, the sharp ache in Draco’s bones fading to a bit of a hum as he hyper-fixated on Lucius’ chest rising and falling beneath his head. It was rhythmic; smooth and deep and assuring. His vision wavered in and out of focus, eyelids threatening to fall shut as a result of the distant feeling in his subconscious and his father’s fingers running through his hair. “Good boy...” Lucius cooed, lifting Draco’s head and kissing his cheek, the bridge of his nose, and finally the arc of his Cupid’s bow. Turning his head, he managed to look Draco in the eyes, taking in the expanse of pupils blown so wide that they covered the cloudy grey is his irises, “Such a good boy... does it hurt anymore?” 

Draco shook his head and leaned up in an attempt to follow the affections, ultimately settling for relaxing against his torso and balling up handfuls of his father’s shirt, which nearly felt as if it were slipping out of his grasp despite holding on as tight as he could, “No, father...” Lucius nodded, shifting on the bed so that he could cradle Draco in one arm and reach for his wand with the other, murmuring a soft incantation so that the curtains closed and the candles flickered out, “Very well... sleep, then. I’ve got you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please do not read if you're not okay with topics addressed in this fic. If you have any suggestions/ideas, please comment them below. Thank you!


	5. Pretty Boy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lucius decides to punish Draco for letting his grades and name slip into the gutter during his sixth year.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING! THIS PART CONTAINS MILDLY GRAPHIC DEPICTIONS OF RAPE/SEXUAL ASSAULT/DEGRADING! IF YOU UNWILLING OR UNABLE TO READ SUCH CONTENT, PLEASE DO NOT VIEW THIS PART!
> 
> Please do not read if you're not okay with topics addressed in this fic. If you have any suggestions/ideas, please comment them below. Thank you!

“You think you’re special?” Lucius spat, seizing the piece of report parchment from Draco’s hands and casting it aside; banishing it from his view like a hanging notice. Not only had his grades begun to slip, but attached to the report parchment was a notice from Severus Snape that Draco was to serve the two weeks following Christmas break in detention with McGonagall for — in lack of a stronger word — falling grossly behind on his work. “You think,” the man elevated himself from his chair, fingers caressing the polished silver of a serpentine cane-head and wearing into it a smear of angry fingerprints, “that the Mark gives you the right… the freedom… to disgrace _**my**_ name? _**My**_ face?” 

Draco stepped back, breaths stalling in his throat as he cast his eyes back and forth across the floor for something to put between him and his father. All that stood in the room was Lucius’ office desk, but by now Draco’s father had already stepped around and was now stalking towards him. Draco could run from the office, screaming for his mother to stand on his behalf, but Lucius was faster. He was always faster. 

And Lucius Malfoy, spoiled sick and rolling in the silken comfort of luxury, hated runners.

Draco choked when his back hit the door. With a quivering breath, he stared down his nose at the cane head that rested below his chin and lifted it up, forcing him to meet his father’s eyes and face him — not as a Malfoy, but as a trembling heap of flesh. 

“You think…” Lucius’ voice came slow; dangerously soft and clipped at the edges so that velvet tones turned more to cement, “you think that a pretty little face will save your life, do you? You think… that running off and calling upon your mother will save you?” 

Draco shook his head, pressing himself up against the door to escape the touch of prying hands. He could hardly consider himself relieved when Lucius set his cane aside, especially when it was followed by hands seizing the collar of his shirt and throwing him to the ground. For a moment, Draco stumbled, and then his palm scraped against the carpet and his vision filled with specs of light. Before he had a chance to contemplate the fact he’d bitten his tongue, a leather shoe stamped firmly between his legs and forced him to sit up, the boy backed against his father’s desk in an attempt to escape the boxed-in position that Lucius oh-so adored. He’d always enjoyed the upper hand, and as the face of Wizarding wealth, the occasion was rare that he didn’t possess it. 

“Now, now, Draco…” Lucius cooed and crouched down, delight weaving into his words and smoldering all of the nicety out of his voice, “As a Malfoy, you must learn to repair your mistakes…” Lucius leaned forward sharply on one knee, prompting Draco to pull his hips back in avoidance of an injury even if he knew one was likely to take place anyway. His father leaned in hungrily, carding a hand through his hair and pinning him properly against the desk in a hasty kiss. When Draco made to pull away, Lucius lifted a hand to the boy’s throat and squeezed, teeth grazing against Draco’s tongue to pierce flesh and fill his mouth with blood. It ran down porcelain skin and made Draco choke, his lunch resurfacing the moment that Lucius pulled away. Lucius recoiled, and before Draco could take one labored, heaving breath, he was struck against the temple. 

“Filthy!” His father spat, crouching once more to grab Draco by the sleeve and haul him to his feet. Draco pulled away, shaking his head and begging silently to the man before him. 

“I’m sorry,” he cried, desperately pressing his heels into the office carpeting and leaning back, tears racing down his cheeks, “I’m so sorry, father. I’ll be better, I’ll do better! I’ll be better- I’ll change!” Lucius held him firm, reaching blindly for a satin-black tie that fastened itself around Draco’s throat. With a pull, it tightened and Draco found himself gasping for air, his pleas muted down to a vague movement of his lips as Lucius ripped at the buttons on his jacket, and then his vest, and then his shirt. The tie remained, winding around Lucius’s hand as he wrenched it around to bend Draco over the desk, using the strip of fabric to keep his head pulled uncomfortably back, choking him into a scarlet-faced submission. 

“If I wanted you to apologize,” he growled, reaching to shove stacks of papers out of the way, resituating ink pots and tightening his grip on the accessory to pull Draco up an inch or two, “I would have told you to… wouldn’t I?” Draco nodded the best he could, an airless sob jolting through his body. With a satisfied nod, Lucius shoved his head back down against the desk and forced a knee between the boy’s legs, widening his posture and giving Lucius reign to pull his wand free. Lucius uttered a quick ‘Diffindo’ and the slacks fell away, leaving Draco bare as the frailer blonde sniffled against the desk. 

Lucius took him in, steely grey eyes sweeping over every yellowing bruise and tracing the mottled, congealed tracks of claw marks. Among them ran scars, placed by a malevolent little Gryffindor who dared mar the skin of Lucius Malfoy’s property. He nearly felt sentimental, but it was quickly replaced by fury at another weak, pitiful cry from the boy beneath him. “Shut your mouth,” he barked, and Draco diligently followed the order. 

In moments, Draco curled away from the sound of a belt clattering against itself, zipper pulling down and his father groaning as he stroked himself into place. It started as a dull pain, but as Lucius forced himself in with little fanfare, it became searing-hot agony, and Draco once more screamed out. He knew it would never be heard, for the windows glittered with the tell-tale of a silencing ward, but he could still hold out hope — no matter how futile. Draco had never gotten used to Lucius, no matter how many times the man had caressed his sides and dragged him into his lap, whispering sweet nothings and nipping at every place that made Draco feel warm. No matter how many times Lucius had seized him in the night and pressed him down, suffocated him, into the mattress to use and abuse and discard him. Though it never hurt as much as the first time, Draco always screamed and bit his lip to stave back sobs threatening to strip him of every badge of pride he owned. 

Blood ran down his thighs, caking against his skin and staining into his socks, dripping down onto the Persian rug below them. Lucius hardly seemed to care, focused more intently on shoving the heel of his palm between Draco’s shoulders and crushing his rib cage against the top of the desk, rocking the boy’s hips into the corner and abrasing the skin with splinters of wood. Each thrust was deeper and quicker, stroking in self-gratifying angles as Lucius’ free hand gripped and scratched at any free inch of battered, wasted flesh. 

Draco begged for freedom, though was vehemently and wordlessly denied.

“You like that, don’t you?” Lucius hissed, breathy and low, “You filthy whore. You act out just so you can have this, don’t you?” 

‘No,’ Draco could hear himself screaming in his head, nails scratching at the desktop as if he would find a way to pull free and scramble away, ‘Please, no.’ 

“I know you do,” Lucius laughed, though it tapered into a grunt as he buried himself back into his son, snapping Draco’s head back with a forceful yank of the tie, “Oh, the things I do for you, you filthy pretty-boy. Say my name.” 

Draco lifted a hand to scratch at the tie holding secure around his throat, nails tearing into his skin in a weakly-supported attempt to free enough room just to speak; just to play along so that his father would see that he really was loyal and leave him to cower in his closet and hide. 

Two fingers slipped between his skin and the material, his voice shuddered, abused, and hoarse when it finally echoed past sick-stained lips, “F-Fa-“

“Louder!” Lucius demanded, thrusting into Draco hard enough that the boy collapsed back over the desk, sobs crawling up his throat in the form of another round of stomach bile. It seeped over his tongue and past his lips, dribbling down his chin and pooling on a decree from the ministry. 

“Father-“ Draco cried, crumbling away into laments and broken whispers as Lucius tangled the hand holding his tie away into his hair, forcing his face down into the puddle of fluids on the desk, smearing his cheek into his own sick and filling his senses with overwhelming squalor, “Father!” His voice was a scream now, begging and pleading for relief, “Father, father!” Lucius’ movements quickened and in moments stopped completely, buried deep into Draco’s body and filling him with shameful, gut-wrenching fluids. 

Lucius panted and finally released his grip on the tie, allowing Draco to gasp for proper air. When the man stepped back, Draco buckled to the ground and wept, scrambling for the shreds of his clothes to cover himself the best he could — to hide the bloody, seminal disaster that his father had created. 

Lucius buckled his pants and stared down at his handiwork, nodding slowly as he leaned to pull the original, damning report card from the now-cool pile of vomit on the office floor. With a flick of his wrist, he threw it at Draco and turned towards the door. 

“Clean this,” he ordered, rotating his hand in a vague gesture to the room. Draco took a trembling breath and peeled the paper from his skin, though looked back at his father when the man spoke again. 

“And Draco… do wear a smile for your mother.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please do not read if you're not okay with topics addressed in this fic. If you have any suggestions/ideas, please comment them below. Thank you!

**Author's Note:**

> Please do not read if you're not okay with topics addressed in this fic. If you have any suggestions/ideas, please comment them below. Thank you!


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